Lunatic Fringe (15 page)

She was getting drunk on Archer’s face,
on her musk, on the feeling of their skin skidding against one
another. And like the drunkard that she was, her body begged for
more. Clutching the dip of Archer’s waist, Lexie leaned down to
pick up where they had left off the night before. Their lips met,
wet and warm. Her whole body swooned and relaxed. The blood drained
from her brain and spread through her body, shutting down her
rationality. Her mind, most often located somewhere roughly behind
her eyes and above her ears, had migrated and now lived in her
lips, where they touched Archer’s, and on the side of her face,
where Archer’s hand held her. It glanced into being in her
eyelashes, where they flickered against Archer’s, and in her
breasts, pressed against Archer’s chest.

Wherever Lexie pressed her body against
Archer, her mind rose to the surface of her skin, like sparks of
static electricity jumping between two charged points. Lips pressed
moist and firm together, Archer inhaled deeply through her nose and
pulled Lexie tighter against her. Lexie buried her hot face into
Archer’s hair, spread across the fleece spread, mingling with it.
Lexie couldn’t tell the difference and didn’t care. It all smelled
like Archer; it all felt like heaven.

Lexie’s body clenched the rush of
pleasure. A wave of moisture surged between her legs, soaking her
underwear. Lexie arched her neck as Archer nipped her.

A wave of panic waited on the other
side of the bliss that carried her. It swept her back into her
head, away from the magical points of contact with Archer. The
anxiety claimed her whole body, snatching the pleasure and
replacing it with the need to move, go, run. She wanted Archer to
take her, to keep her from running, to lay her flat against the
ground and pour her body into to her, enveloping each piece of
flesh, inside and out. But the questions started, like a sniff of
cocaine to the brain. Lexie’s mind started talking and wouldn’t
shut up. First came the images, flashes of moments that led her
here: Blythe and her smile; Renee and her legs; Mitch and his
dimples; Archer and her eyes. These clues amassed in a pile of
rough edges and meandering through-lines, like tangled skeins of
mismatched yarn. The tangle meant nothing as a group, but the hint
of meaning was enough to cloud Lexie’s mind, forcing down the trap
door of sensation. This wasn’t like the night with the Pack, when
“No” was the simplest and most appropriate response. Here, joined
with Archer, each cell of her body yearned to scream the word
Yes.

She tried to again steer her mind back
into her flesh, focusing on Archer’s tongue in her ear. Archer
responded to her unspoken need, rolling Lexie over onto her back,
and pressing her thigh between Lexie’s legs, holding her wrists
above her head, restraining, liberating. Everything was wet, her
neck, her ear, her mouth, her thighs. The moisture acted as
facilitator, easing the friction of Archer’s thigh, stimulating
sensation, leaving Lexie begging for more, always more. Her body
wouldn’t be satisfied until she was bathing in their combined
fluids, all slick and salty sweet.

But her mind had a mind of its own. In
the twilit space of touch, lust, and limited resources of blood, it
intruded again with the voice from her dreams. Strange women sang
and spoke, begging to be heard, though Lexie couldn’t heed them
even if she wanted to. They spoke in sigils, mojo, and music,
tearing her attention away from Archer and the cabin, pulling her
like sirens to the jagged rocks of her tangled subconscious,
inciting her to flee. She wanted them to shut the fuck up and leave
her alone with Archer. They thrummed as loudly as the drums from
the night before, a bassy, urgent call telling her that she was
doing something wrong. These voices rarely bled into her waking
life, but here they were, forcing Lexie’s eyes open, inciting her
to movement. She resisted.

The light waned as the orb of the sun
dipped behind heavy clouds. Archer’s face changed shape before
Lexie’s eyes. It melted and twisted, flashing illusions over the
real. She looked like the space between channels on a radio, all
static and white noise that only the strongest characteristics
could break past. Her nose lengthened, her skin darkened, and her
hair swirled like seaweed at low tide. Lexie caught her breath,
wanting to look away but enraptured by the glamour that was
ensnaring them both. When Archer spoke, it echoed from the depths
of a deep well, distant and lost.

“
Lexie?” she asked. “Are
you alright?”

“
I . . .” Lexie struggled
to communicate, but she could only think of her Nana and the absurd
things she claimed as her brain decayed.

Nana Lou developed schizophrenia when
Lexie’s mother was a teenager, and she spent the remaining years of
her life ensconced in a nursing home. As a child, visiting Nana was
a frightening experience that entailed detailed descriptions of the
sky as it shattered in shards, or translations of the cackling of
the crows outside the window. Lexie suspected this genetic legacy
was the true impetus behind her mother’s disappearance, to save her
husband and child from the burden of insanity.

Lexie herself was accustomed to hearing
odd things, but such hallucinations were far easier to dismiss as a
byproduct of imagination blended with insomnia. As the sunset
shifted and Archer’s face distorted and pulled at the bounds of
reality, Lexie didn’t know what to think.

“
I . . . I have to go,”
Lexie stammered. Archer chuckled as though she were joking; Lexie
could hardly believe it herself, but she still scooted her body out
from under Archer’s. Archer furrowed her brow, though the curious
smile didn’t leave her lips. Lexie ran into the kitchen and yanked
open the door of the stove, withdrawing her clothes. She threw them
on, the metal fly of her jeans biting her with heat. She hurried
outside, grabbing her socks and shoes from the slate landing
outside the door. Before Archer could protest, Lexie was jogging
away.

“
I’ll return your shirt
soon,” she called over her shoulder, insensate to the crunch of
gravel under her bare feet. “Thanks. Sorry! I just-- studying-- and
. . . dad! And-- I-- I’ll see you soon. Thanks for the
tea!”

Chapter 9

The headlights of Lexie’s truck
illuminated the darkening facade of her father’s house as she
pulled into the driveway. She killed the engine and sat in the cab
of her truck as the engine ticked down. She wasn’t sure which part
of the day should humiliate her most. The bloody false alarm? Her
clumsy kiss with Archer? The disturbing hallucination that lead to
her awkward flight from the scene? Lexie played the day over in her
mind. Who was Archer, so beautiful, so composed, so in control? Her
looks were similar to many women in the area, a mix of indigenous
and immigrant, dark and light, yet she seemed barely of this
world.

Lexie mused over the details. Her body
had been exposed yet safe, wrapped in the fur, illuminated by the
fire, warmed by Archer’s body curled against hers. She recalled the
feeling of Archer’s hand against her cheek, the power of their
bodies pressed together. The strength in Archer’s arms, the fire in
her chest, the clarity in her eyes. Archer could defend her against
an army, wielding her ax against every beast in hell, and come out
on top. With Archer, Lexie was untouchable, and Archer, she was
invincible.

Lexie left the quiet of her truck for
the quiet of her house. She kicked off her shoes in the doorway. It
was Sunday, which meant her father was at Hank Speer’s place,
watching football, and talking and not talking about things. She
opened the fridge, ravenous from the lack of food all day. She
pulled out a carton of leftover beef noodles from Chan’s in
downtown Wolf Creek, her father’s favorite place to eat out, and
threw it in the microwave. The smell and crackle of cooking meat
launched her salivary glands into overdrive. She had to swallow
twice to empty her mouth of the pooling saliva. Another inhale
revealed Archer’s presence lingering in the t-shirt Lexie wore. She
pulled up the hem to her nose and inhaled. Her groin swelled and
soaked her underwear for the second time that day.

As her dinner spun in the microwave,
Lexie went to her room to find some shorts. Archer’s scent dwelled
in her brain and wetness dripped down her inner thigh. This was
interesting. Not that it was an unfamiliar sensation. She’d been
turned on before, but to have her menstrual blood completely
replaced by thick, clean arousal was new. She wasn’t
complaining.

Standing bottomless in her bedroom, the
final moments of the sun illuminating the wall in horizontal swaths
of reddish-orange, Lexie pulled the hem of her shirt up again and
lay on her bare bed. She opened her legs and moved her right hand
between them, stroking the wetness in her hair. Her vulva clenched,
begging for touch. Lexie used the fingers of her left hand to
spread herself wide. Moisture dripped from her onto the mattress.
She pressed down on her clitoris, pliant and erect. There was no
limit to the pleasure her body could conduct. Waves reverberated
through her, from her groin to her skull and back, growing with
each cycle until the resonance hummed on a constant loop throughout
her whole body, like a wet finger singing over the rim of a crystal
glass.

Lexie inhaled Archer’s scent, her brain
floating on the memories of the previous night and the day’s
afternoon, drunk with lust for this strange woman. Whatever spell
Archer cast outshone Renee and the rest by leagues, by fathoms. Her
lust for Archer surpassed any bodily desires she had ever known,
greater even than the worst hunger or the most desperate thirst.
She could taste nettles and wood-fire, cloves and pine in Archer.
She swallowed, taking the scent into her belly, where it mingled
with the jolts of delicious sensation radiating from her
groin.

Lexie imagined Archer’s body, her
muscular shoulders as she lifted her arms, dancing. She thought of
Archer’s breasts, soft and smooth beneath the white tank top she
wore last night, the fabric glancing off her nipples as she moved
with the music. Lexie moved her left hand to her breast and
squeezed, sending more jolts through her body. She was lying on the
white fur, Archer’s weight pressing on her. Archer’s kiss spicy and
wild.

Lexie lingered over what could have
happened had she not fled like a frightened rabbit from Archer’s
grasp. Archer stripping off her clothes and pressing their naked
skin together. Lexie drawing her leg up to press between Archer’s,
feeling her wetness on her thigh. Archer slipping her fingers into
Lexie and rubbing, hard and firm. Archer tracing a path of kisses
and licks down Lexie’s abdomen from her neck to her groin. Archer’s
eyes staring at Lexie as she buried her mouth between . .
.

Crashes of pleasure shot up Lexie’s
spine, exploding in her head and erasing thought and intention for
an ecstatic moment. She moaned loud and long, releasing the
humiliation of her inexperience and the thrilling tension of the
past twenty-four hours. Her moan rang in her ears, flushing out
heat and anxiety and recycling the pleasure again in her body.
Tingles danced on her skin; her muscles rejoiced with relaxation
and exaltation. She licked her lips and breathed heavy in the
shattered silence of the bedroom. A moment of embarrassment flashed
in her mind, this lust for a woman, like she’d never felt before.
But the embarrassment was easily dismissed and replaced with the
lassitude of desire satisfied. Her breath steadied as the last
waves of pleasure reverberated and faded.

Lexie leapt from bed and raced as the
scent of cooked meat re-awoke her hunger. She wolfed down the
noodles, blinking at how bright and vivid her shadowed house now
appeared. Never before had the world looked so crisp. The lenses of
her eyes felt as though they had been rinsed clean. Blood moved
through her body, reaching into tiny capillaries that seemed newly
created since the night before. Oxygen bathed the furthest recesses
of her insides. Muscles stretched and released as if relieved of a
great and long-term burden. Lexie ate, feeling blessed to be alone
with her longing for Archer.

Chapter 10

The game was already underway as Lexie
walked to the soccer field. The Pack had staked out prime real
estate just beyond the bleachers, and all the women lay on two
blankets save Renee and Hazel, who stood on the field among their
teammates, shading their eyes against the sun, waiting for the ref
to drop the ball.

The girls cheered when they saw Lexie
approach.

“
Finally!” Blythe said.
“It’s been forever since we’ve seen you!”

Lexie wouldn’t say that she had been
avoiding the Pack, but she needed a few weeks to settle in to all
the newness. Since brunch and the kiss with Renee. Since the Full
Moon Tribe and the . . . whatever, with Archer.

Mimosas were the drink of the day.
Jenna sat up on her knees, the hem of her batik sundress gathered
in a puddle beneath her, and uncorked a fresh bottle of champagne.
It was an unseasonably warm day, and the girls were dressed
accordingly. Jenna’s cherubim curls were pulled back from her face
with simple kerchief. Mitch was wearing khaki shorts, a plaid
short-sleeved shirt, and “man-dals.” Corwin stretched in the sun,
cuffs and sleeves rolled up over her thick limbs, watching the sky
from behind big black sunglasses. Her glass pipe sat next to her,
spent and empty. Sharmalee was noticeably absent, and when Lexie
asked, Blythe gestured over her shoulder. Behind the blankets,
about forty yards from the field, Sharmalee sat cross-legged facing
away from everyone, her head in her hands.